


Afterglow

by mikaminato



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Awesome T'Challa (Marvel), Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Romance, T'Challa (Marvel) Feels, WinterPanther - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 14:05:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13572111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikaminato/pseuds/mikaminato
Summary: "Sometimes Bucky felt like a silly teenager, heart full of love and sentiment for T’Challa, but at the same time, he decided he didn’t care. It was as if every time they had that moment for themselves, Bucky added a little bit of happiness in the little box he kept inside his heart. Even if sometimes he thought he didn’t deserve any of the good moments T’Challa was providing him, something on the king was able to trigger the warm side of Bucky, even stronger than those fearful Winter Soldier trigger words, so he didn’t felt guilty for being so dependent on his company or that fulfilling sensation that T’Challa provided him." [WinterPanther]





	Afterglow

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there. This is the first story of one my millions of Marvel otps, winterpanther, a pairing that was just shoved onto my face and I had no choice but ship them with all I got. This is some fluffly/angst one, I hope you guys like it. 
> 
> Reviews are always welcome, kudos would be appreciated if you enjoyed the work!
> 
> Thanks a lot everyone for reading! <3

A loud thunder echoed outside the apartment, followed by a flash that brought him back from his dark thoughts. Bucky glanced to the window, watching as the wind made the leaves of the Wakanda’s dense trees dance as the rain kept falling. He sighed softly, running his metal fingers over the poem book he was reading.

He was never one to read poetry. He vaguely remembered liking sci-fi, horror and thriller books before the war, when he and Steve were nothing but two poor teenagers in Brooklyn who had no one but each other, but now… Bucky couldn’t bring himself to enjoy the same books he believed he used to like, because now his mind was filled with tragedy, blood, and regret. The stories he used to read were nothing compared to the reality he had faced while he was under Hydra’s command and the good anxiety he used to have while reading those pages ages ago, excited to know what was going to happen next, was long gone.

But poetry, on the other hand, was beautiful and Bucky somehow felt calm while reading them, even if they weren’t exactly happy ones. It made him feel a little better to know someone was able to express a bit of his sorrow in simple words that mixed perfectly, turning them into art, because e was sure no one would ever get how he felt, but at the same time, the crushing feeling was turned into something beautiful… something Bucky was sure he was never going to be able to do.

He probably had decorated each one of those poems since regaining his consciousness from the Winter Soldier, but it turned into a habit of his to dive into that alternative world where the words written in those almost worn sheets of paper comforted him from the pain inside his chest. But he was not reading them in that particular day.

It was like moving his eyes through the book’s letters was a calculated move, more out of habit than by the pleasure of reading itself. Maybe it would help time pass faster, maybe it would once again soothe a bit of the tightness inside his chest. Bucky could just go and try to get some sleep, but he knew bad things happened every time he closed his eyes while the memories of his years as the _asset_ were fresh in his mind. He often alternated between good and bad days, and it made him feel bad, seeing the worry on Steve’s eyes. He often pretended to be strong in front of his friend, because more than anyone, he wanted him to be happy. Steve had literally become a criminal for him so he wanted him to be able to reciprocate all his efforts by being the friend he always was. Even if Bucky knew the old James Barnes would never come back. The doctors of Wakanda were working on removing the trigger words and deprogramming the Winter Soldier from his mind, and even if he knew – when he wakened from the Cryo Chamber – that he would have to relive those horrible moments all over again, still hurt. It gave Bucky the worst kind of pain: it hurt inside his heart, making him feel as if someone was smashing it inside his chest. It hurt, because he knew even after the words were completely gone from his brain, the blood would stick with him forever. The lives he had taken were on him, whether he was being controlled or not.

He often thought about the day he and Steve had to fight Tony and the way Bucky tried to smash the arc reactor from his Iron Man suit. He knew he was just being protective, not only to himself, but to Steve, but in the end, the feeling of having those deaths on his consciousness made him put himself on Tony’s shoes, making him feel like it was his heart instead of the older man’s arc reactor, and part of Bucky’s mind thought maybe it would be better that way. Of course he would never mention that thought to Steve. He knew his friend was also suffering from his separation from Tony and the way everything ended. But in the end of the day, Bucky could only be sure that what was done was done and there was no turning back.

Sam and Scott were fast to befriend with the wakandan people, since they were easy going and very funny. Sam even managed to do some flirting with Nakia and Bucky was happy for them. Wanda also was accustomed to the country, even if she didn’t understand everything they speak. She became very close to Shuri and some Dora Milaje so she was also doing good. Clint, being the spy he was, barely stayed on Wakanda after he parted ways with the others. No one questioned his whereabouts, not even T’Challa, since he was more than capable of taking care of himself. Steve commented with Bucky he was sure Natasha was behind everything and that thought made him somehow a bit relieved, because it made him think not everything was lost after Siberia. At least not for everyone.

He ran his eyes through the living room of the apartment he shared with Sam and Steve most of the time, so silent he could hear his own heartbeats. Sam, Scott and Wanda were out with Shuri, Nakia, Okoye and W’Kabi. It was Friday and Sam mentioned it’s been a while since he had good booze and now they were venturing into the specific Wakandan’s drinks on the W’Kabi’s place, because Shuri just mocked Sam and said he knew nothing about drinks if he hasn’t tried Wakanda’s booze yet. They invited him but Bucky politely declined, firstly because the serum didn’t allow him to get drunk, and second because one of them will probably get wasted by the end of the night and he didn’t really feel like dealing with any drunkard in the very moment.

A movement on the couch next to him and a noise of something falling on the floor drew Bucky’s attention.

Steve mumbled something and became still again.

The sergeant smiled tiredly, and carefully picked up the old cellphone and placed it on the coffee table. He knew Steve had given another one just like that outdated model to Tony, and even if he didn’t want anyone to notice it, Bucky knew he always carried the phone with him. Bucky wished it would ring, just like he knew the blonde desperately wanted it.

He touched the other man’s warm shoulder lightly and gently shook him, watching as Steve frowned a bit.

“Steve?” He called, voice low.

He grunted something disconnected, just so Bucky knew he had listened, not opening his eyes.

“Go to sleep in the bed, punk. Your back is going to kill you later on if you sleep in this small couch.” He mumbled, as he almost jumped by the loud thunder that echoed. And even that didn’t seem to work to make the other man awaken.

“I’m… fine…” He said, voice completely lethargic.

Bucky shrugged, concluding the ache on his back were nothing to the supersoldier serum, pulling the forgotten blanket that was on the armchair next to him, covering the blonde man with it. He walked over to the breaker, turning off the lights and letting him sink into his much-wanted sleep.

It was always like that, if Bucky stopped thinking. Steve was tired, especially emotionally, the brunette knew it. But even so, Bucky knew Steve always was one to take all the responsibility to himself. He wanted to take care of his friends and he wanted them safe. He didn’t care if he had to move mountains and fight the world for the people he cared about.

Bucky understood why everyone loved him. Steve was warm, brave, homey and caring. He screamed liveliness. Even when he was just a skinny boy back in Brooklyn, he never backed up and he always stuck with his convictions. Bucky didn’t feel jealous, even if he felt like he was the opposite. Instead, he _wanted_ to see him happy. He was his precious best friend and he wanted his happiness more than anything in the world. But… sometimes Bucky wondered how it would feel like if things had been different back then. He wouldn’t change what happened – at least not the part of him risking his life for Steve back in the war – but even so… sometimes Bucky thought how things could be if he didn’t have so much blood on his hands, if he wasn’t so broken inside or if Hydra never existed on his life.

But at the same time, Bucky was getting tired of self-loathing over the same things all over again. More than that: without feeling the right to complain about anything at all. Steve was there with him, alive and well. Sam and the others came to accept his company and now Bucky considered them his friends too; even if he was more secluded than the others, the people from Wakanda also became closer to him. Still… the emptiness inside him felt overwhelming sometimes.

It was painfully ironic.

And Bucky just _hated_ those feelings. The loneliness, the regret, the sorrow, the horror, because even if he was trying so hard, they always made sure to wipe his mind out from any positive thoughts he might have, just like those fucking trigger words. Just like them, they penetrated through his mind, leaving him hopeless against his own will.

He climbed the stairs and walked to his room, throwing himself on the bed without turning the light on. The sergeant stared blankly at the ceiling, blindly placing the book on his exposed chest, metal fingers running through his hair. The new arm was lighter, more touch-sensitive and more importantly: it didn’t have the horrible star on it. Bucky wasn’t sure at first if he wanted a new arm at all, but in the end it was the first choice he was able to have, and it meant a lot to him.

The raindrops reflected in the window, the trees still shaking outside by the wind that was blowing, so strong that made noises.

After he was out from cryo-chamber, Bucky often had a blank expression on his handsome features, just watching usually ignorable things, without really paying attention to it. As if... his soul had left his body, as Sam used to say.

And he knew that that countenance was detestable, and it made people sad and uncomfortable. He liked much better when there was a reason to smile, or even laugh until his eyes were filled with tears. Not many things made him smile, especially on the days he had to work with the Wakanda’s doctors to deprogram the Winter Solder, so his friends always tried to cheer him up, and of course, T’Challa often made him smile.

And just by the thought, his lips curved into a stupid smile, reminding of the day T’Challa was trying to teach him new wakandan words and Bucky was making him speak russian. The accent was strong and the king was blatantly offended when Bucky said the pronouncement was wrong. The silly, goofy side of the king of Wakanda no one could see but Bucky.

It was almost funny the way T’Challa had the ability to bring a bit of color to his usually dark days. Just as if watching the king eat, sleep or work on some papers would be enough for Bucky. It was like a motivation to him, something for him to rely on, like an anchor. Like the last piece of a puzzle you spend years putting together. That was probably how their relationship was like. They had highs and lows, especially because Bucky was still on recovering and even if he tried so hard to hide it, T’Challa still grieved over the loss of his father. Bucky, more than anyone understood T’Challa every time he woke up screaming; every time the king tried but failed to hide the tears of longing. He hugged him tight and whispered reassuring words until T’Challa stopped shaking, not pushing him to talk about his pain or thinking he was weak. Whether he wanted or not, Bucky was part of the mess that took his father away from him, even if he wasn’t in Vienna back then. And T’Challa had just too many burdens and responsibilities on his back, so Bucky liked to be the one the other man relied on when he needed comfort.

The trust was built slowly, piece by piece just like the puzzle, always looking for the right one. T’Challa was always there for Bucky on his bad days, and ever since he came out of the chamber, even when they barely knew each other, the king was keeping track on his progress. It gave Bucky a feeling of safety he knew he needed to have from someone other than Steve. The vulnerable side of T’Challa came with time, maybe because he was also on the edge or maybe because the closeness they had developed gave the wakandan the push he needed to let it go: the tears, the worries, the sorrow. And Bucky embraced them all, despite his own monsters, because it made him a better person and he _wanted_ to be the one to wrap his arms around T’Challa, not necessarily saying everything is going to be ok, but at least that he wasn’t alone.

He felt his body lighter, the numbness of his almost sleepiness when the door opened slowly, almost imperceptibly. Bucky decided he wouldn’t open his eyes just yet, choosing to remain plunged into his own world, because it did him good and especially because that was about to come was even better.

The weight beside his thighs in the bed increased a little, before he felt warm, soft fingers run through the skin of his abdomen, not in a vulgar or promiscuous way, but tender as only his king could. When he wanted to, obviously.

His hand went up to remove the book that was resting on Bucky’s chest, putting it on the bedside drawer as T’Challa’s fingers resumed caressing his shoulder, sliding up to his neck, lingering a little longer on his Adam’s apple, a place that even if T’Challa never verbalized it, Bucky knew he liked.

Bucky couldn’t help but sigh contently, an almost delighted purr escaping his lips, but without really denoting he was awake. The tip of his thumb circled his mouth, before gently caressing his chin, and taking a few strands of his hair out of his face.

T’Challa’s calm breath collided against Bucky’s, the puffy air making the brunette feel warmer. The king stood in the same position for a while, and Bucky just wanted to lift his head from the pillow to have that delicious touch of their lips, but he stood still, pondering that maybe… T’Challa needed that moment for himself.

Bucky knew it was hard to run a nation and live up to the expectations people placed on him even if unwillingly, and the opportunities they had for themselves sometimes became rare due to T’Challa’s constant meetings, calls and work in general and most of the time they were just too desperate with longing that mixed to desire to think straight. But now, the touches were delicate, almost innocent, and T’Challa was caressing him as if Bucky was something so precious he could almost believe him.

That thought made him warmer, making something sparkle inside him and it gave Bucky the feeling the rest of the year was going to be amazing.  

Sometimes Bucky felt like a silly teenager, heart full of love and sentiment for T’Challa, but at the same time, he decided he didn’t care. It was as if every time they had that moment for themselves, Bucky added a little bit of happiness in the little box he kept inside his heart. Even if sometimes he thought he didn’t deserve any of the good moments T’Challa was providing him, something on the king was able to trigger the warm side of Bucky, even stronger than those fearful Winter Soldier trigger words, so he didn’t felt guilty for being so dependent on his company or that fulfilling sensation that T’Challa provided him.

Still with his hand on his jaw, Bucky felt the king’s lips brush softly and gently over his; almost a feathery touch. He stood still, though that attitude was in stark contrast to what seemed to be forming in his stomach. T’Challa risked kissing the other man with a little more intensity, but without deepening the touch, probably not to wake him. Bucky could stay that way forever, just savoring the amazing feeling of their lips together, but the way his hands moved unconsciously to T’Challa back seemed to make him aware that he was awake. Very much awake, by the way.

“Hey.” The brunette was welcomed by the king’s beautiful eyes. His features looked a bit startled at first, but then he smiled a little. “You were awake all the time.” It wasn’t a question.

Bucky couldn’t help smiling back, the need to hug him invading his insides at full strength.

“I was.” The brunette agreed, running his metal fingers on the T’Challa’s handsome face. "I wouldn’t dare to disturb your moment." He teased, stretching as hard as he could to turn on the light.

He felt his eyes burn as the light flooded his vision, but he instantly forgot it as he saw the way T’Challa looked embarassed. He watched as the king bit his lips almost imperceptibly and diverted his eyes. It wasn’t something that happened often, maybe that was why Bucky couldn’t stop the thought he looked... adorable.

“I…” T’Challa tried to say something to break the silence, in which Bucky was enjoying himself. His arm landed timidly on Bucky’s waist and the sergeant almost couldn’t believe the way the other man made his heart buzz in his chest like a teenage girl in love.

Maybe that feeling was... a bit unreal when it came to Bucky and T’Challa, especially because both had monsters inside their heads, each of them due their own problems, but even so, it seemed a bit fanciful to dive into such deep feeling when there were other issues screaming at them the fucked up situation they were. Bucky was often loathing in self-distress and T’Challa still had PTSD because of his father’s death. Not only that, but he was a king who had to put his people above everything and maybe, being in a relationship with an outsider, a foreign former assassin in a country that had just opened itself to the world wasn’t the right choice.

Bucky could possibly think of a million reasons not to be with T’Challa, especially because deep down he thought that love didn’t suit him. But at the same time… he couldn’t imagine something more right. Maybe that was the reason it felt… magical. It was like every feeling was almost never verbalized so that the charm would not be broken.

Bucky smiled, giving up waiting for T’Challa to say something to hide his embarrassment and quickly pulled him by his neck and parted his lips in a request for a kiss.  
  
In which T’Challa didn’t seem to deny at all.

Their tongues touched, familiar, warm. Bucky felt the slight sweet taste of some juice the king was probably drinking earlier, something sweet inside his mouth, something that mixed orange, lemon and… something he didn’t know what it was, but good nonetheless. He rested his flesh hand on the back of T’Challa’s neck, gently running his fingers through his nape as the king settled on top of Bucky, resting one hand on the bed so he didn’t deposit all his weight on the soldier, while the other one slid over Bucky’s body.

Bucked sucked on his lips and then bit them gently, listening as T’Challa sighed contently against his mouth. The king pecked him and smiled softly, moving away slightly as Bucky moved a bit to give him space to lie beside him on the bed.

“How was your day, your Highness?”Bucky smiled, watching the other man play with his metal fingers. T’Challa rolled his eyes at the way Bucky called him and kissed the back of his hand and even through the metal material, the sergeant felt the warmth of the king’s lips.

 “Tiring, as always.” He started, “I thought you would be at my room by the time all the meetings were over, but when I got there, I found it empty.”

Bucky kissed the top of the other man’s forehead. “I’m sorry about that ‘Challa. You know I don’t like to be there when you’re not around, I-” He sighed a little. “I feel like an intruder, you know.”

“You are not, James. You know that.” T’Challa started, resting his head on Bucky’s chest, closing his eyes as the sound of his heartbeats filled his ears like a lullaby. “All the Dora Milaje that stay around my room are warned that you are allowed to be there.”

“I just…” Bucky bit his lip. “I’ll try to keep that in mind, doll. I’m sorry, I just feel uncomfortable with people around me sometimes.”

“I know, James. Maybe I am being selfish, afterall. I want you to come there because you want to, not because you feel like I am forcing you. I am the one who needs to apologize. I came here without even knowing you were awake or willing to see anyone.”

“Never apologize, because I’m the happiest when I’m by your side, doll.” The sappiness of his words somehow surprised him, both from the truthiness and the way they slipped his lips easily, even if Bucky often struggled with his conflicted feelings.

T’Challa beamed at him, and kissed him lightly while nodding.

Bucky felt his heart tighter inside his chest and he instinctively brought the man closer to his body. He knew T’Challa didn’t like to see him recluse. Just like Bucky, T’Challa didn’t push him to talk about his problems, nightmares or his past, but even so, there was clearly concern and worry on the king’s features. Maybe, just maybe T’Challa was also sad that he thought that he was not enough to make Bucky totally happy. It made him guilty and upset, because even if he tried so hard, part of him still believed he wasn’t able to enjoy all the good things T’Challa provided him because of the monsters of his past. He knew that even when it didn’t hurt anymore, the scar would remain forever, showing him the things he had done and how much he had suffered. And Bucky didn’t need T’Challa to tell him that, because the hopelessness was clear on the king’s handsome features. He saw the devotion on his eyes, but sometimes he also saw a glimpse of melancholy that made something inside him hurt, because even if he wanted nothing but make T’Challa happy, he also gave him sorrowful feelings. Maybe that was love, afterall. It didn’t always have to be good, because the hurt didn’t necessarily mean the heart was breaking, but maybe it was getting larger. And the larger it gets, the more love it holds. And sometimes, Bucky felt like it wasn’t possible for him to be more amazed by T’Challa, only to realize he kept falling for him over and over again.

“How about you, James? How was your day?” The king changed the subject, trying smoother subject.

“I read.” Bucky answered smiling weakly, accepting his offer of the change of the subject, while caressing his back.

T’Challa rolled his eyes, smiling too.  
  
"You know, listening old state leaders talk about boring stuff in meetings is less annoying than this book.” He commented, looking at it like it was offending him. “I could buy you a million other better books than this one.”

"Don’t talk about it like that!" Bucky pretended to be offended. “Don’t listen to that silly, ugly creature. He has no culture.” He said stupidly to the book, knowing he should be ridiculous right now.  
  
And maybe that was one of T’Challa’s greatest qualities.  
  
He was able to make Bucky awaken the childish, almost innocent side he didn’t even know he still had inside him. Not in a spoiled way – maybe one in a while, because he just loved when T’Challa took care of him – but in a way Bucky felt totally free to act in a silly way, without caring about what other people might think or say.

“You are talking to a book, James. Who’s the silly one?” T’Challa teased, but couldn’t hide the smile spreading on his face.

“I know. That’s your fault, by the way.” Bucky teased back.

“You know I do not like it when you read this book.” Bucky tried to find some playfulness in his voice or in his gaze but found none. He felt an almost annoying pain when he noticed that T’Challa was serious.

He stood silent, not of sure what to say.

One of the things they have built up during all the time they got to know each other, was to be able to almost always guess at what the other thought or felt. That could be quite uncomfortable at times, especially with all the dark thoughts, but Bucky could not help but think that was just another sign of all their mutual communication.

“You always read it when you are sad.” The king whispered, not meeting his eyes, not realizing that Bucky noticed that his hand tightened a little more against Bucky’s.

“I’m fine-”

"You have dark circles under your eyes, you know that?" He observed, running his fingers over his cheek.

Bucky sighed and leaned to kiss him again, almost carefully, just a peck of their lips, delicate and affectionate.  
  
“Everything is fine now.” Bucky assured, and he wasn’t lying.

T’Challa held his gaze for a while longer, until he sat facing Bucky’s body, with the poem book in his hands.

“Frankly, James. You need to renew your stock. I have some very good ones, if you want to know.” He spoke.

Bucky smirked. “I would probably die out of boredom by reading your books.”

T’Challa looked affronted. “Are you questioning my good taste in literature? Just so you know, I have an awesome taste, and my library is full of books ready to fulfill all kinds of different tastes. But of course, mine is really good.” He said, sounding cocky.

Bucky laughed. “Sure.”

"Are you going to keep reading this book?" The king asked, eyes meeting Bucky’s blue ones.  
  
"No," He replied, caressing the other man’s knee absently.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“’m lazy. Also, I’m doing something more interesting right now.” Bucky answered, running his nails on the T’Challa’s covered thighs, feeling a shiver run over his body.  
  
The king smirked. “I'll read it for you, then.” He smiled, opening a page randomly. “Ljubvi pylajuŝej granata. Lopnula v grudi Ignata. I vnov’ zaplakal gor’koj mukoj. Po Sevastopo- Sevastopolju- Oh my god!”

Bucky convulsed in utterly outrageous laughter, not caring about the serious face T’Challa offered him. Unlike his attempt, that expression only made him want to laugh harder. Tears were already filling his eyes as Bucky watched the other man’s mouth curve into a smile that soon turned into laugher. The supersolder hugged his lover, while still trying to control his breathing, feeling T’Challa’s face hide in the curve of his neck.

“Oh god,” Bucky said as soon as he abdomen stopped hurting from laughing too much. “Your russian never fails to amaze me, ‘Challa. The accent is amazing, not to mention the hard words! Do you even have any idea of what you were reading?”

“Not at all.” He confessed. “ _Ja hoču videt’ vas sčastlivymi.”_

_I want to see you happy._

Those words came out strongly accented, making Bucky’s lips curve into a smile again.

“ _Ne pečal’no_.”

_Sad not._

 It didn’t matter that T’Challa said it wrong, because he bursted out laughing along with Bucky as soon as those words were out of his lips.

Maybe T’Challa was never going to realize of how precious he was to Bucky, even if he felt that his attitudes were too obvious to leave any doubt about his feelings. After the Winter Solder and Hydra came, he doubted a lot of things in his life, especially himsef. But if Bucky was sure of something it was that he would be forever grateful to T’Challa. Not for welcoming him at Wakanda, not for giving him a new arm or helping him deprogram the Winter Solder, but especially and only: for being himself. Just as lovely, and perfect as only he could be.

“ _Lyubov’_ _...*_ ” Bucky called him, smiling, receiving his attentive look in response. "You've always been enough.” He said, all of a sudden. And T’Challa didn’t need to ask what Bucky was talking about, because, if the smile he offered him was any sign of understanding, the brunette knew T’Challa understood him perfectly. Because that was how they were, imperfectly perfect for each other: parts of crackled puzzles that were learning to put together the pieces. Things were easier if they had each other. 

And the sadness that was taking over Bucky a few hours ago seemed to be in a very distant past to be important.

 

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> Lyubov: love 
> 
> Sorry if my russian is not perfect! I guess I'm with T'Challa on this one. haha thanks everyone for reading! <3


End file.
